


In Love with a Death God

by SnowlessBlack



Series: Infinity Guardians [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Amnesiac Harry, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Broken soulmate bonds, Demigod Harry Potter, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Harry sucks at magic, M/M, Magical Inheritance, Master of Death Harry Potter, Multi, Multiple Personalities, Out of Character, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Soul Bond, Temporary Amnesia, no betas we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-05-01 07:45:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14515677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowlessBlack/pseuds/SnowlessBlack
Summary: On an editing/rewriting Hiatus!!! (3/7)As a pseudo-god of death, he is used to being alone; that is, until one of his angels comes to him with a very urgent notice: Many souls blessed by the previous Death have been missing for many years now and they have just noticed. Since its his job to take care of these souls in life, it is his duty to find them and make sure that they have a peaceful death...little did he know that this would lead him to become rather attached to one dying millionaire and would, eventually, put him in the path of heroism once more.OrHarry has amnesia and is an anxious mess who only wants someone to care. Oh, and he's a god of death.





	1. The Lost Soul of a Hero

In the depths of his mind, he could remember distant words, whispers that echoed in his head. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more...” they would say, but he was unable to move. “If I had done something about it sooner...” it continued, but the words would stop there, long lost in flashes and blurs that invaded him when he tried to think further back.

This was one of his earliest memories, for the rest were darkened by a hazy veil that he could only sometimes cross. He knew that it was the voice of his predecessor, the voice of Death, who had mentored him for many years after he had been created -at least, that’s how Hecate referred to his ‘birth’, ten years ago-. He couldn’t remember much of that time either, only snippets of it, but it was enough to tell him what he was supposed to be.

He was ‘born’ a godling, not quite mortal, but not a full god either. He was still capable of succumbing to a good blow to the head or a well placed bullet to the heart, but he didn’t grow old and he had a higher stamina than most, immortalized with the appearance that he was given after his creation, with his deathly pale skin and the dark circles under his eyes.

He was taught that things such as time were supposed to be impractical and inconsequential. Every day was merely a second in their existence and every soul was a cycle that would repeat itself eventually, a process that even the gods would sometimes have to go through after the thousands of years of life they were gifted by the original aspects of light and dark.

He was an avatar of death, though not a traditional one, for he wasn’t chosen by said primordial force, but rather by his predecessor. Because of this, he, Death would say, was different from the rest. He was special, something that had never been seen before, speaking of him like some miracle of nature, though he felt like anything but.

He originally thought that it had to do with the fact that, to him, time didn’t feel quite as brief as to other gods. Each day felt absurdly long and painful. Compared to the other gods, time was a concept that he was awfully familiar with and one that, when having a task as dull as his, he would rather not have.

Maybe, he thought, it had to do with the fact that he wasn’t unaffected by the souls in the way that his creator was. Or, better said, he was affected by them when Death wasn’t. Every time that they visited a warzone to help the angels collect the souls, his heart would ache and his head would be filled with the sound of screams that would last even after the fact, ringing in his ears while he was resting and making his dreams become terrifying nightmares.

They made him feel an uncomfortable sort of empty, like there was something that was taken from him in the same way that he reaped souls and, to distract himself from it, he liked to lose himself in his thoughts. He’d close his eyes and imagine a life where he wasn’t a godling of death, after all, he _had_ come from _somewhere_.

He’d sink into the feeling of the void, letting his mind wander between unlikely and impossible. Worlds yet unseen and never achievable at this point. He’d imagine faces that were imprinted in his inner eye yet vague enough to never fully recognize them. Colors that flashed like tantalizing lights, daring him to take a step closer: red, blue, green, yellow-he was unable to count them all.

He could feel a familiar buzz, electrifying the air he breathed, beating as one with his own heart. A whisper, much like the one he muttered at his own reflection: _who am I?_ He’d recall strong eyes of storm, framed by a platinum cascade. Ocean orbs that washed ashore in sandy blond. A feeling of safety like he had never known before-

He snapped back to reality. No matter how much he yearned another life, he was stuck here, forced to live until he gained godhood or he died by the hand of those souls he was sworn to help guide to the beyond.

However, these fragments brought something within him; change. Awareness. The colors of his day dreamings appeared more and more frequently. There was the green of cunning, seemingly overtaking anything man-made that dared to intrude in its territory through nature; there was the bright yellow of loyalty and it sure felt like the touch of the sun; there was the red of chivalry in flowers, animals and the essence of life and there was the blue of wisdom in both the sky and the sea, both just as endless and unreachable.

Although his creation brought forth a blank slate, his personality bled with what he could only call memories. He found himself feeling nostalgic at the sight of beautiful plants, not before freaking out at what the gloomy sensation was. He avoided colder climates like they were the plague, for the pricking feel of the freezing breeze would make him tear up and he wasn’t supposed to show so much emotion.

Which was why he was currently ‘enjoying’ the blazing heat of a desert, though he didn’t know which one. The only thing that he knew about this place was that it harboured a lot of souls and, though he could always leave the task to the angels of death, he didn’t have anything better to do.

He droned on, sometimes walking for days before he came across a stray soul that he’d transform into a little, white marble so that he could transport it easily to the stream of rebirth. If he forced very hard on both storm and sea, he could flawlessly ignore how the souls screeched as they were torn from the body or how the stray ones weeped until he took them for safekeeping.

A garble noise enters his field of consciousness, but not enough to stop his robotic movements. Step. Step. Step. The garble noise comes through again, louder, and it wakes his mind a little more and he tries to concentrate on it.

The third time, the noise becomes clear. It is a screeching-like sound that comes from everywhere at once. He is used to these sort of calls, having dealt with the ‘angels’ of death many times before. He doesn’t show any reaction other than an empty glance at its forehead, where it’s only eye is. He tries not to stare at the empty abyss that are its eye sockets, knowing that he will become sick if he does.

‘Angel’ is a rather pretty word for something so unnatural.

“What is it now? Another unexpected uprising?” He asks in an exhausted monotone. Now that he has a slight sense of awareness on his not-quite-immortal body, he can tell that he is tired. How long has he gone without rest?

The creature stands in place, wings folded back tightly as a sign of submission. It doesn’t speak. It can't without a mouth, but it offers him a hand and kneels. To his credit, he only hesitates for a bit before he takes it. Right away, a wave of images appear behind his eyelids like a hyper realistic film reel. It takes his body a while to adjust and sink into the sensation, the cold of a world without a nearby sun and the pull of gravity that's a hundred times worse.

-

_They stand in the realm of Death, Alfheim. Around them is a beautiful natural crystal cave that glows under the glow of their seven moons and, just a step away, is a hole that stretches and stretches into infinite darkness, where even the light of even the brightest lantern doesn't shine, but they don't need light. They lean forward, the feathers on their arms and legs standing as a sort of static fills their entire being, muddling their mind for a brief moment._

_They tilt their head back, listening to what the voices of the pit mumbled. Something was amiss, they told them, someone had been there recently, disturbing the usual stream of souls that are part of the rebirth cycle. Their single eye glares at the nothingness and their feathers rumble with the angered air that flowed from the abyss._

_Between one second and the next, they are falling. They aren’t afraid, after all, the angels’ right of passage is given through this very same fall and, after years of existence, they are used to the sensation. They fall and fall for what feels like forever and, just in the last moment, they spread their back wings, catching a current of air and gracefully gliding down. Their single eye is covered by their second eyelid so that they can see more clearly through both wind and piercing black._

_Below them is a silver river that divides into hundreds and hundreds of more the further they travel. They close their lone gazing orb and, when they open it again, they can feel the pull of the stream, a cry of help from the voiceless, the non-corporeal. They head into a worrisome direction, since the rivers divide and divide until they stop dividing and there is only the deep deep dark._

_The disturbance is getting closer, closer, closer and it is just beyond their fingertips._

_There. They drop closer to the ground, where a small lake of golden resides. It doesn't branch like the silver one and the air seems far warmer down here. The souls twist and swirl inside the viscocious-like liquid. There is something in this atmosphere, something that has been there long enough to cause a horrid, putrid, pungent smell. They focus harder, trying to determine what it is._

_It is easy: it comes from the whole river. They growl, the sound reverberating with their empty sockets burning alight and their feathers bristling. Tainted. It is the only word in the mundane language that can describe the sensation. Unholy hands had invaded their sacred space and took something. The river was missing balance. The golden was bleeding black and only **now** they had noticed this. _

_Someone **stole** from us!_

-

The vision disappears as soon as it comes, leaving him dizzy. The creature lets him regain his surroundings and then reaches out with a stone slab that he was sure it didn’t have before sending him into its memories. He takes it with uncertainty.

“Those...those were the blessed souls..." He gasps, his long dead heart beating with anxiousness, to which the angel nods in confirmation. “It took me longer to assimilate the memory, so it was old. Have you been looking for them?” The creature points at the slab. The letters rearrange into something comprehensible, letters.

He looks down at them and, soon, he recognizes that they are names and coordinates. There are currently two of each, but there are a lot of blackened spaces that, he assumes, will be updated as soon as they are found. He hums and peeks up at the angel, whose arm and leg feathers are bristled with annoyance after reliving their own memory.

“Do we know who it was? Death never told me about them, so it wasn’t him...” The creature nods eagerly and, through another small touch, a floating, golden palace flashes briefly, quickly replaced with golden strings.

Of course, it had to be an asgardian.

“I’ll speak with Hecate about this, but you know that I can't do much." The angel stares at him with its lone orb "...Thanks for the information, you can go back.” It gives him a curt bow before its own shadow rises, engulfing it and disappearing. He soon imitated the action, feeling the coldness of darkness wash over him as he did.

Now, he stands somewhere new and, frankly, the feeling is less confusing than experiencing an Angel’s visions. At first, he thinks that his shadow-travelling might’ve somehow failed since there’s still sand everywhere, but he can hear voices coming from nearby and, when his eyes turn golden thanks to Death’s power flowing through his veins, he spots the weak whispers of the first blessed soul.

He focuses his thoughts on the tattoo on his back, a black circle inside of a triangle, perfectly split in half by a thin, vertical line. A second later, he feels as if a wild beast racked against his ribcage. His whole skin is lit ablaze by a tingling sensation and he can’t suppress a groan as he tries to confine it back inside of his body.

Magic. Thinking about it made his head pound, as if something was warning him against remembering, but he had to. Back then, he had been feeling restless and, when he told Death, he was told for the first time that he had been a human before he was a god and that the thing inside him was that, his magic. He had been cautioned to use it carefully, but it outright terrified him, so he kept it under lock and key at all times.

In his hand, something appears, detaching itself from both his magic and Death blessing since it was binded to both. He wipes the sweat off his brow and stares at the silvery cloak in his hands. It is one of the gifts that Death gave him when he inherited his power: The invisibility cloak.

He puts it on and, like that, he is out of sight and walking towards some desert dunes, catching glimpses of movement far beneath the sand.

There was a cave complex, badly hidden in the desert dunes. Might fool someone on air, but the entrance was wide open and bustling with activity. He wondered why a blessed soul would be in an environment such as this, but he shrugs and enters, going further and further down, not bothering to memorize the way back. He had all the time in the world to find a way out.

He finds himself in front of a heavy metal door. He closes his eyes and melts into the shadows once more, willing himself inside the room. He stares at the blessed soul which is slowly fading away and, when his eyes return to their original emerald color, he stumbles slightly at the scene in front of him.

There is a man, gloved hands caked in blood as he reaches into another’s chest with a pair of tweezers.

Not quite what he expected to see.

Whatever this person is doing, he doesn’t think that it is very healthy in these nefarious conditions and, evidenced by the weakening soul of the unconscious one, it wasn’t working very much either. Still, there isn’t anything else he can do other than sitting here and awaiting and, if his soul reached its unlatching point...well, he’d just have to jumpstart it again.

He swears that, for a brief moment, the man that is operating the other turned his gaze at him, but he’s wearing his invisibility cloak, so it was impossible. Unnerved, he moves closer to them, being careful of staying out of the other’s way and sitting down on a nearby table.

The procedure goes on for hours and, instead of just doing nothing, he closes his eyes, focusing not on the scent of blood in the air, but on the memories of sea and storm that eased his own soul. Eventually, even that gets boring and he decides to take a look at the stone slab that the angel had given him.

The letters rearrange themselves before him, the familiar telltale of Allspeak, the tongue of the gods. A lot of it is blacked out, like he noted before, which won’t be a problem, but it was still worrying that someone had managed to get past Alfheim’s defenses when the angels were so hell bent on protecting their home...

“He will live.” A voice stated in front of him, making him flinch.. “His vitals seem to be stable, but I did what I could.” The man that had been operating the other has taken off his gloves, washed his hands and put on some glasses. “...Who are you?” It takes him a couple of seconds to process that the man is staring right at him, but, when it does, he doesn’t bother to hide his genuine curiosity.  
“How can you see me?”  
“I can’t. I can, however, sense where you are, you know? Your angelic energy.” He said calmly. “Now, will you answer my question?”  
“...Harry.” The emerald eyed male announced, although the name sounded foreign, even to him. When was the last time that he had even said it? Nowadays, the angels referred to him as ‘master’ and the two goddesses that he knew, Hecate and Lachesis, called him ‘death’.  
“So you’re a new one.” The statement took the Master of Death by surprise.  
“New one?”  
“A new angel, you guys aren’t usually so talkative.” When Harry didn’t respond, the man sighed and turned on his heel, staring at a nearby, small mirror. “I’m Yinsen, although you probably knew that.”

As a matter of fact, no, Harry didn’t know that, but when did the angels tell him anything? He didn’t know that they spoke to humans as well. It looked like he still had a lot to learn. Since Yinsen seemed relatively unbothered by his presence and technically disembodied voice, he was going to hazard the guess that he did this often....

“...Do you know when he will wake up?”  
“I can’t really tell, I don’t really have any equipment to measure his vitals with that much accuracy.”

He nodded to himself and stood up, slowly getting closer to the man that was on the table. His name flashed in his mind, fresh from having read it from the stone tablet: Anthony Edward Stark.

The name sent chills down his spine.

He closes his eyes and slumps next to him, letting his eyes flicker golden for the briefest of seconds to check on his overall health. His soul was weak, but it was no longer shrinking in size, so he wasn’t actively dying. A part of him dreaded having to find all of these souls with how prone they were to getting in life-threatening trouble...but alas, a job is a job...

As he started to doze off, deep in thought, a pair of blue eyes opened, shining, for a brief moment, as if they were fluorescent. As soon as the glow came, however, it disappeared, leaving in their stead a disoriented Tony Stark.

 


	2. Chorus of death

He can hear the rush of blood in his ears, his heart beating harshly due to the exertion, but he doesn’t dare succumb to the overwhelming dizziness that threatens to topple their rash and last-minute plan. His head is blank, although still yelling at him that this was crazy, suicide even, but he had long ago learned to ignore that voice in his head. This is their only chance to get out of this hellhole that they were forced to be in.

“Can you move?” His fist closes in response before he nods. Under other circumstances, he might’ve smirked victoriously, but no can do.  
“Okay, say it again.” He mumbles, immediately citing off in his head the instructions at the same time as Yinsen speaks: 41 steps ahead, then 16 from the door. Fork right, 33 steps and a right turn. Someone calls their names from beyond the door and, though their hurried, everything feels silent, his mouth is dry.

They only needed a little more time.

“Say something back to them.”  
“They’re speaking in Hungarian, I don’t-”  
“Then speak Hungarian!” He urges him.

Yinsen barely hesitates as he shouts something, he can’t really hear their response. Sweat is running down his forehead, but he doesn’t let that distract him. The metal door creaks open, a lot louder than he remembers it being. Both captives shut their eyes close, feeling the burst of heat coming from the entrance.

They are so close-

-

It was surprising how quick one’s life could turn upside down. Just a week ago, he was on the top of the world. A millionaire with no sense of self-preservation, a party-soul who had no care in the world other than himself. Yes, to him, life was perfect, if a bit lacking, like something was missing but never managing to find it no matter how hard he tried.

He felt the change when he first woke up. Ever since he had opened his eyes, he knew that something wasn’t quite alright. He hadn’t known where he was, but, then again, that wasn’t a new thing for him, was it? No, what was wrong was the fact that his chest hurt like a bitch, making him wake up with a start, quickly discovering that the reason for the pain was a freaking electromagnet stuck _in_ his chest.

From that moment onwards, things just seemed to cascade downhill. Not only were his movements limited by the car battery that he was attached to the magnet, but _his_ weapons were in the hands of his captors, who had the gall to order him to make them a Jericho missile. At first, he had been adamant with his refusal, but a man can only take so much pain before he shuts down.

To be honest, he didn’t quite remember much about what happened during the hours that, dissociation and whatnot, but it left him feeling a deep sense of despair. His fellow captive was quick to notice and, as if saving his life was his specialty, he renewed his feeling of hope. The words still echoed inside him even now. “Is that how you want to go out?” The words sparked a hint of annoyance inside him. “Is this the last act of defiance of the great Tony Stark?”

And, like that, a plan came through to him. An image, both brilliant and absolutely crazy, flourished in his mind like a beacon of hope. It would take time and a lot of materials, but it was doable if they were careful. He took a deep breath and got started right away, intent on showing these bastards why one just didn’t mess with Anthony E. Stark.

After all, when you play with fire, you’re just asking to be burned.

First came making a miniature sized Arc Reactor to improve his mobility. It wasn’t that difficult, he had built a bigger one before, it was a matter of making it a lot smaller. Surprisingly, Yinsen proved to be a very good assistant, eagerly following his instructions and capable of making small talk when necessary, which was a first for Tony, who was used to working alone.

After the shiny battery-replacement was introduced into his chest after a full day of work, came the difficult part. The idea was to build a suit that was capable of resisting bullets -well, it was more of an armour due to the tight schedule- but it should also be capable of sustaining flight in order to succeed in their escape.

-

He blinks as he realizes that the light of the explosion has receded, bringing him back to reality. He looks at Yinsen from his place inside the chestplate that lets the glow of the Reactor shine through in an oddly ominous fashion. Because the suit lacks a light of its own, it was supposed to let him see a little clearer.

“How’d that work?”  
“Oh, goodness...it worked all right” The man mumbles and his gaze flickers to the door, conscious that the heat hadn’t been as harsh as it should’ve been. “Let me finish this.”  
“Initialize the power sequence.” He orders, noticing that the other was starting to become more and more nervous. They can’t afford to mess up now and, if the sequence isn’t uploaded in time, the rest of their efforts will fall flat.  
“Okay. Tell me what to do.”  
“Function 11, tell me when you see the progress bar.”

There are more shouts and, just outside of his line of sight, something moves. There’s an odd warm spot right behind him and the air is fluctuating strangely. His head snaps back to the side when Yinsen tells him that the progress bar is up. He tells him, step by step, the keys that he has to press, making sure that he doesn’t skip anything.

Eventually, he tears his eyes away from the computer and stares at the open door. Again, the air fluctuates. Is there a gas leak somewhere? That can’t be good-

“They’re coming.”  
“Just do every hex bolt.”  
“But-”  
“Just do it!” Yinsen’s jaw clicks shut at Tony’s desperate exclamation. He nods and screws the bolts in, which is not a quick task when doing it by himself, still, he does his work efficiently. “When I go out, make sure that the checkpoints are clear before following after me.” An indescribable emotion flashes in Yinsen’s dark eyes, which look at the screen with a worried frown.

“...We need more time.”  
“Don’t look at it, we’ll make it.”  
“We won’t.”  
“Hey-”  
“I’m going to buy us some.”  
“What are you-no! Stick to the plan.”

Yinsen ignores his instruction, walking past him with an air of acceptance to him as he picks up a discarded gun from the floor. Tony loses his voice for a few moments, but it comes back full force as he exclaims, calling after him, but there didn’t seem to be a way to erase the determination in his glare.

“Angel of death!” He hears the doctor say with a commanding voice, staring at a point beyond him.  
“Yinsen, what the hell are-”  
“-Yes, mortal?”

Astonished, Tony’s head whips around towards the ice-cold voice, but there is nothing. No, wait, the air distorts again-!

“I have my death wish ready, protect him.”  
“Your wish has been received...”  
”What is-? Yinsen, no! Come back! Yinsen!” Tony screams, but he is gone and isn’t coming back. A pit forms in his stomach as he glimpses at the computer.

Fifty percent.

This has to be a nightmare. Or has he really gone mad?

“I’ll never comprehend mortals.” There is a sigh, again, from the disembodied voice. “So...reckless...” It states with an almost disappointed tone.  
“What do you know?!”  
“I know enough.”

Tony wishes that he could understand what was going on. No, he wishes that he could _move_. He _has_ to! He must find Yinsen and fucking drag him along if he has to. They have come so far, there is no way that-

_Tap_

“Huh?”  
“Don't worry, this'll be quick” The voice reassures him from beside the computer, evidenced by the way the papers move.  
“Don’t touch that, it’s-!”  
“Yes, it is important, I know.”

Right away, something changes, the air stings when he breathes it in. He barely notices how the computer is making a high-pitched noise and, as if he was back home, the bar went up in a matter of seconds. It quickly reaches completion and the lights flicker before going completely out.

He’s in absolute darkness. The voice had gone silent, either startled by the blackout or simply having disappeared, never existed. Tony lets out a trembling breath, genuinely shaken by whatever had just happened, yet also fueled by a rage that flared deep inside him.

He has to go _now_.

He pulls the cables and the helmet closes itself with the motion. There are screams and gunshots, but he can’t bother feeling any sort of fear. With adrenaline running through his veins, he runs, making use of the heavy plating to deflect any and all bullets that might come his way.

None of the men could see his face, but he sported a crazed grin and eyes filled with hurt as he punched them with his heavy, animalistic movements. He didn’t dare to stop, advancing in the search of the other captive, hoping that he had somehow managed to escape despite how unrealistic the idea sounded.

Like a monster, he barrels through anyone who dares stand in his way and, although his mind is muddled with hate, he doesn’t forget to count each and every one of the steps he takes before taking the right path in the forked path. He doesn’t hear the hurried huffs or the small grunts of pain that followed right after him.

It didn’t take long for people to take a hint and start fleeing on sight. Not even doors are able to restrain him, for he has the strength to plow through them as if they are paper.

His vengeful rage stops at the sound of coughs not too far away. He turns his head and, with hawk eyes, he scans his surroundings, almost making a double take as he finds the man that had saved his life, who is leaning against the cavernous walls, unable to stand since he seems to be wounded.

“Yinsen!” He exclaims with relief, but he barely takes a step when the other shook his head, wide eyed.  
“Watch out!”

His eyes widen at the sound of a projectile being fired. He doesn’t have time to try and move out of the way. It turns out, however, that he doesn’t need to. The offending object blows up mid air, as if it had suddenly hit a wall. He still has to cover his face from the force of the resulting explosion, but, as the dust settles, he sees that there’s some sort of conflict going on.

Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, he fires his own missile from his arm, watching it blow up before he sprints towards Yinsen. He kneels down and opens the front of the helmet to get a good look at him. He’s...he’s bleeding a lot, but it’s no big deal.

“Stark-”  
“Come on, we don’t have time, we have to go.” He says, taking the other’s arm, but he resists. “Come-come on, we have a plan that we have to stick to!” He tries to urge him, but there is a horrible, sickening feeling inside him that grows tenfold.  
“This was always the plan, Stark.”  
“What about your family, huh?! Stand up, I’ll take you to them!” The weak grim smile that Yinsen gives him is enough to freeze him for a moment.  
“My family is dead.” He whispers with sincerity. His smile grows a tad bit wider as he stares at something that’s over his shoulder. “I...I’m ready”

As Tony turns around and spots something just a step away, he throws a heavy fist at it, but, though the hit lands against what look like humongous wings, the figure doesn’t even flinch. He suddenly remembers that Yinsen had called out to some...angel. Could this be the thing that he was talking to?

It was staring right back at Yinsen with molten gold for eyes. They shine brightly like a furnace and actually hurt to look directly. Tony feels as if though he can’t speak, a hand compressing against his throat, but, when he reaches for it, he can’t feel anything at all.

“I can see that.” It says and the Stark doesn’t notice when he has moved to the side, letting the short mysterious person get a full view of Yinsen. Its appearance is completely otherworldly, a gust of non-existent wind picking up out of nowhere and ruffling its snow white hair, revealing a pair of pitch black horns on top of its head, barely a couple of inches tall. “I thank you, in the name of all of the angels that serve me, for your useful support in protecting one of the souls under my command.”

Yinsen’s breathing hitches for a moment, eyes widening barely a second before they light up temporarily with humour.

“The god himself, huh? Unbelievable.” He chuckles and coughs loudly, and Tony is right beside him in an attempt to help him someway. His brain can’t understand what this _thing_ is, but he knows not to go against it. Yinsen gives him a smile, but it speaks differently than the others. There is no sadness or despair. No snark or even playfulness.

He’s completely at peace.

“It’s okay, I trust him. He’ll keep me safe.” He says with a raspy voice and closes his eyes. “I want this. I really want this.” It sounds like a goodbye. It sounds too much like a fucking goodbye.  
“Thank you.” The words tumble from his mouth, unbidden, _he doesn’t want to say goodbye._ “For saving my life.”  
“Don’t waste it...” He coughs again, shoulders shaking in pain.

The figure places a hand on Tony’s armoured shoulder, though it feels as if it on his very skin. The gesture oddly reassuring despite knowing that this thing isn’t human. His head is filled with the sound of soft, chiming bells and endless whispers that tell him the secrets of humanity. They force him to relax and watch his heart at ease, because _everything is fine_.

The mysterious male takes Yinsen’s hand into his own, closing his eyes. There is a shift in the atmosphere. There is no longer cold and fear, but a feeling of utmost warmth and care, reflected by the golden eyes of the angel. The chiming bells are louder, performing an alluring song that makes content find its way to their hearts.

And a chorus. There’s a chorus that sings with a thousand voices of lullaby with an old, forgotten language. The choir soothes their pain and anger, washes away their anguish and despair.

“I heed your calling, you, who has been given a blessing by the angels. I, master of death, ruler of the midgardian souls and prince of the Ljosalfar, will grant reality to the wish of this mortal form of yours. I will gift you rest and peace, for I will give you the confidence that your soul will make it safely to the cycle of rebirth.” The male, an entity far above anything that is known, gives what could be a tender smile as it places its hand on Yinsen’s chest. “Let go of this body. Your family awaits.”

There is a flash of blinding light and a burst of shadows that swallows the edges of Tony’s vision, the only witness of an act that could only be described as death. The world soon goes dull and silent and there, resting against the cave wall, is Yinsen’s unmoving body. Not even does his chest rise or fall, still, it was almost like he was asleep...almost.

The mysterious person turns to him, in its hand is a single, white marble. It steps in his direction, gaze still overflowing with a dangerous power and his first instinct is to step back. His attention, however, in enraptured by those golden orbs and it feels like something is eating up his energy, sucking it out of him like a vicious vampire.

He feels tired, his limbs are feeling heavy and, as soon as he manages to stand up with his suit on, he stumbles. His mind is still struggling to catch up with how...wrong, he suddenly felt. He wheezes, falling to his knees. Is he-did the arc reactor fail? But it’s still on-!

“Stand, we have to leave.”  
“C-can’t-!”

He might be panicking, he’s not too sure, but the edges of his vision are becoming darker and darker, swallowing any light that might enter. He is pushed onto his back and, screams when a shock of electricity runs through his veins. Darker. _Darker. **D A R K E R.**_

**_Don’twanttodiedon’twanttodiedon’twantto-Istillhavethingstodo!_ **

He doesn’t notice that he has been freed from the heavy suit or that he is being cradled into the being’s arms. He doesn’t feel the calming pulse that is sent to his soul. He doesn’t hear the strong ‘sleep’ that echoes against the cavernous walls.

What he does feel, however, is cold, and he is engulfed by shadows, blacking out immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I’m taking so long to update, I’ve just started trying to make an animatic and it's honestly a lot more difficult than I expected! Haha, thanks for reading up until now and for leaving both your kudos and comments, see you next time


	3. The piece that protects

_ It all starts with a sensation. _

 

_ He’s floating, not in infinite dark but in gentle white. It might be an eternity, maybe even two and, to be honest, he doesn’t mind it. He feels lighter than ever before, unaware of any taints in his peaceful soul. Here, he is pure, he is free and he is safe. _

 

_ He’d do anything to feel like this forever and, surprisingly, what follows white is warmth. He relishes the sensation and doesn’t even bother to question it. It washes away insecurities until he forgets the pain of who he used to be and the fear of what he will become. _

 

_ … _

 

_ It turns into a voice. _

 

_ It is silent at first, but he resonates with it. Then, it speaks, yet is also says nothing. It exists and pulls him into its harmonious embrace. Again, he’s unbothered. It tells him that everything will be alright. That he can rest and heal all that he wants. _

 

_ And so, he continues to sleep. _

 

_ - _

 

_ He’s waiting. _

 

_ For what? Well, he isn’t sure. The white has become less endless and more of a delicately build room, with white walls, white floors and white ceiling. The voice, or maybe it’s a person? Whatever it is, it is now laying down at his side. Sometimes, is stands and walks around the room. Sometimes, it disappears altogether. In the end, it always comes back at his side. _

 

_ It is incredibly reassuring. It doesn’t really speak, but he has never felt less alone in his life.  _

 

_ - _

 

_ The voice gains a shape. _

 

_ It is very vague, but it might be an actual angel. Its features are dainty, with wide doe eyes and hair that cascades pasts its shoulders. There are huge shadows that sprout from the middle back and they carefully wrap around him when they lie together. They shield him from harm and, before long, he notices that the voice is actively coming from them, singing to him a soft melody of peace. _

-

 

**_...Wake up._ **

 

_ - _

 

He breathes in the distant scent of pine and earth. It is what brings the colors back.

 

The ceiling isn’t one that he knows and the heat is unbearable. He is sweating, but there’s a weight draped over him and beside him that refuses to let go. Tony rolls his eyes, far too used to this way of waking up. An unknown place and a stranger that he probably met at some party. He couldn’t even recall their face, which was just fine by him.

 

He looks around the room, noticing the rather antique looking furniture and paintings, along with expensive silky drapes. He hums to himself, half impressed. Never let it be said that he has bad taste in partners.

 

And then, when he sees  _ wings _ and  _ horns _ , the part of him that is still very much asleep wonders what the fuck he got into now, because  _ this  _ he doesn’t remember. His numb brain prevents him from freaking out and, instead, he groans through a patchy throat and lets his head rest on the pillows.

 

Well, if anyone needed him, he was sure that they’d call him on his cellphone.

 

He looks down at the person that is curled up on his side. They appear to be asleep, but their hair is a very distinct white. Must be very recently dyed, though, since their roots don’t peek through their long hair. He thinks that he recognizes the shade from somewhere, but he shrugs and reaches to shake their shoulder lightly.

 

They let out a soft gasp and their head snaps up at him. They both freeze, but he doubts that it’s for the same reason, since those molten gold eyes bring a typhoon of memories that slam into him. All he can think of is an oppressive force that makes him feel oh so insignificant-and now there’s a hand over his mouth as his arms are being straddled from movement.

 

“Don’t.scream.” A vaguely masculine voice whispers, the wings wide open and casting shadows in such a way that he can’t discern any physical attributes

 

They both stay still for a while. He feels his body lock up with terror from a primal unknown the longer that they stare at him with their omnipotent gaze. He makes sure to give a small, careful nod in understanding, anything to not be on the receiving end of the hands that took away someone’s last breath as if it were made of mere paper. Thankfully, the monstrous being seems to understand this as they free his mouth, but they haven’t fully released him yet.

 

“I...apologize for my harsh treatment. It has been a tiring couple of days and I haven’t had had time to rest appropriately. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t cause a ruckus.” They sigh, running a hand through their long, tangled hair with a still neutral face.

“...What are you?” He whispers cautiously, not daring to move even an inch. Normally, he’d burst out with a sarcastic or even flirty remark, considering the other’s position, but he’d rather not...become a white marble. He isn’t drunk enough for this.

 

Their wings are completely closed now and they carefully stand up, considerably away from him. He takes the opportunity to stand as well, closer to the entrance to the room. They are trying to give him some space, he reasons, so that he lowers his guard. Not a chance, especially after he saw what they could do.

 

“I...do guess that I owe you an explanation.” They mutter, looking thoughtful before staring back up at him. Now that they’re at a distance, those eyes have less of an incapacitating effect. “In short, I’m what others would call a protector.”

“Of what? Afghanistan prisoners?”

“It depends on who you ask. I protect the shards and the souls. I care for the heroic and pure and cleanse the tainted and corrupt. I protect the balance of life and death. I am the Master of Death and that is my task.” They state with a deadpan. Tony thinks that this is getting weirder by the second.

 

Still, that didn’t answer what they were doing back at the base. Was it for Yinsen?...No, that didn’t make sense, they had done nothing to help him (he does his best not to glare at that) and they had stayed with him...but then, he remembers these foreign surroundings...Scratch stayed, they kidnapped him.

 

Great.

 

“Look-” Tony steels himself, intent on keeping a determined composure. Now that he was free, he didn’t have time to waste. He had  _ things  _ to do. “-I don’t know what you want and, frankly, I don’t care. I’m tired and I just want to go home.”

“Of course. I wasn’t planning on keeping you from returning...”

“...I hear a ‘but’.”

“I’ll be blunt. There  _ is  _ a reason as to why I saved you of all people.” For a second, their eyes turn disappointed and far away, but it is gone so fast that he isn’t sure if it had been his imagination or not. “Your soul is, for lack of a better term, blessed by death. As such, I must aid you in future conflicts so that your mortality doesn’t reach an end so abruptly.” This manages to grab his attention.

“Death. As in ‘grim reaper’ death?” The angel stares at him without a hint of recognition in their eyes.

“I’m afraid that I’m unaware of what you mean.”

“Bony, black cloak, scythe-”

“No, sorry. The cloak is currently mine and, that I know, my predecesor has only ever used daggers...”

 

Okay, this was quickly becoming a derailed conversation.

 

“What you’re saying is that I’m immortal.”

“Not precisely. I’m certain that I am closer to that state than you are, and I’m not that far from being a human in spite of my blessed appearance.” Tony mentally stores that fact for another time “No, what you are being granted is more akin to a guardian angel. An aid. I may be able to prevent you from splattering on the ground from a great fall if I can see it coming, but I can’t help much if you are shot through the brain other than maybe pushing you out of the way.” Gruesome, but he got the idea. “While I could do my duty at a distance, this is much more efficient if I am capable of being nearby. Besides, I’m currently not in the shape to dash into action.”

 

They lift their grey shirt, revealing a lot of bandages around their torso and confirming that this was most likely a male, though their figure was still very androgynous and some girls weren’t very shy about their bodies. This really wasn’t helping him.

 

“What happened?”

“Unfortunately, my mortal form lacks of armour to deflect barriages of bullets.” The-no, he states and glares, though his golden eyes show no change. Somehow, he feels like he’s being guilt-tripped. “Similarly, none of the remaining shards are specialized in healing, so we make do with what we have.”

“...You keep talking about these shards-”

“Oh...I guess I do.”

 

The angel stays silent. Tony isn’t sure if that’s his way of putting an end to the conversation or if he genuinely doesn’t understand that he’s asking for him to go through some more exposition. The other picks up on his wariness and immediately reassures him.

 

“They aren’t dangerous, don’t worry. It is something that I was created to keep together as well.”

“...Fine.” He says reluctantly, though he isn’t fine with that at all. Secrets were something that irked the Stark and he’d be damned if he didn’t get it sooner or later “You’re asking me to let you inside my house, right?” The angelic being startles for half a breath and perks up while nodding. “I don’t think I could stop you even if I wanted to, just don’t get in my way.”

“I won’t. I’m only an observer until you need me.”

“...And please don’t cuddle me in my sleep. It’s creepy and I’m not really interested-”

“I wasn’t cuddling you, Stark.” The male says, his expression suddenly guarded and closed off. Welp, there went all his progress. “Your body was injured and, while I can’t heal my own wounds, I can accelerate the process for those with a blessing from death. I was transferring some of my energy to you.”

“And you just happened to fall asleep like that?”

“I-”

 

Before the male can answer anything, there is a dainty knock on the door. Tony’s head snaps around to look at it with confusion as a small voice comes from the other side. It isn’t young, but it is rather shy.

 

_ “Mister Harry Potter?” _

“...We’ve talked about this, Dobby.” The angel sighs from behind him and he walks right past him, leaving Tony tense from the sudden, unwarned proximity. Damn primal instincts. “Please refrain from speaking the name of one of my shards while they are asleep.” 

_ “Right, Dobby is very very sorry, Master of Death sir! D-dobby didn’t mean to disrespect, Dobby will go for the iron-”  _ The angel opens the door gently, as if to not startle the person on the other side of the door.

“There is no need for that, I was just reminding you. Is there anything that you wanted to tell me?”

“Master of death wanted Dobby to tell yous when the Portkey was ready.”

“Already? That was quite fast…What about the Ministry, have you had problems with them?”

“No, Master of Death, sir. They haven’t even tried to near the Black Manor.”

“...I see.” The angel turns to him. “Then, do you want to go now, Stark?”

“Tony.” Unimpressed, golden eyes bore into him. He shrugs with a smirk. “Just call me Tony, it’s more likely that I listen to what you say that way.”

“Well then,  _ Anthony _ .” Well, close enough. “It appeared to me that you were in…” The golden eyes glaze for a second before they refocus. The angel takes a deep breath before he continues “...a hurry.”

 

Yeah, not creepy at all.

 

“Not going to tell me your name at least? Anything less awkward that ‘Master of Death’?” The male doesn’t even twitch as he says

“I don’t have one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not fear, for I am here again with a new chapter! Haha, hope you guys enjoyed this one, writing Dobby was actually difficult, but I managed(? Well, I’m off to write the next one, thanks for reading!


	4. Strings of Fate

Harry took a small breath, feeling inwardly anxious because of the other’s glare. The words ‘I don’t believe you’ made him feel a sense of deja vu and it brought up a hint of annoyance as well. He reminded himself that humans were bound to not easily accepting claims that brought into question their beliefs and, although the self-reassurance calmed him a little, he still felt slightly upset. He was an avatar of death -’a Slytherin’ his brain supplied- he had to be calm and collected.

“I know you don’t.” He said, easily offering a fake smile in spite of how he felt. “You are a man of the future. Gods are a matter of past, faith and belief. The concept of our existence is something that goes against your very nature, isn’t it? But what you believe doesn’t affect the fact that what I say is the truth.”  
“Look, smartass. Even if I did believe that gods were real -which I already said I don’t- what would that even mean? That you have superpowers or something? So what? Mutants have them as well. That you are superhuman? Sorry, but the existence of the super soldier serum isn’t a secret to anyone.”

That Tony was right didn’t make Harry’s job any easier. In truth, not even he knew what being a god actually was. Not only was he technically a newborn deity, but he wasn’t truly divine either. ‘Stop, having an identity crisis won’t help’ he thought to himself, letting his smile drop ever-so-slightly.

“There is something I can do…” He mumbled without thinking. He tried to backtrack as soon as the words left his mouth. “I mean-”  
“No, no, go on. How can you prove to me that you’re a ‘god’?” Needless to say, he was surprised by the curiosity, completely expecting Tony’s immediate rejection. Something must’ve changed in his expression, because the male frowned. “What? That I don’t believe you doesn’t mean that I won’t at least listen. Tell me, what can you do?”  
“It’s...not something easy to explain.” He stated, picking his words carefully. “I am unaware of how much you know about mutants, but it is known that mutations can’t actually be transferred other than through birth.” Tony nodded in agreement.  
“That much makes sense. Their abilities are created thanks to the X-factor chromosome, to pass it to someone else you’d have to somehow replace their DNA with yours.”  
“Exactly. Not only that, but mutants are born slightly different to be able to use their abilities without immediate backlash. Their bodies are built to suit the factor. Mine, however, isn’t tied to genetics. I can freely give part of it to someone if I so desire and, should you give me permission, I’m willing to demonstrate it.”

He could tell that the Stark was immediately wary of him after that sentence left his mouth by the fulminating gaze that he gave him. He could understand where it was coming from, he was, by all means a stranger...He tried to guess what he was thinking, but he wasn’t by an expert at...well, emotions.

“Ah, sure, why the fuck not?”  
“Wait, what?”  
“You heard me. If you wanted to hurt me you could’ve easily done that while I slept and you did try to help me with my arm.” He motioned to the cast and shrugged. “Besides, if you wanted anything from me, you wouldn’t be this obsessed with making me believe you are some kind of god. What do I have to do?”  
“Nothing at all, actually.” He pushed his chair back, walking around the table. “I will, however, need to be in direct physical contact, since it is easier to transmit the energy that way.” The other visibly tensed, but wasn’t telling him to stop or to move away yet. He did, however, stand up and adopt a slightly defensive position, with his injured arm shifted away from him.  
“Alright, but don’t try anything funny, you brat.” The godling huffed a bit at the demeaning name, but he didn’t act on it, instead he stopped just a few feet away from him. Harry lifted his hand and placed it on Tony’s cheek. “Woah, hold on there, what did I just say?”  
“I’m trying to concentrate here, please don’t speak.”

He rolled his eyes and closed them as he focused on the unique feeling of Death’s blessing in the midst of his invasive magic. Said focus came with the side effect of exposing his wings, but, from what he had heard from the Stark, he had already seen them, so there was no case in hiding them. Death’s power was cold, almost like a breeze of winter when you’re right in front of a fire. Before it could even race towards his eyes as it was used to, however, he redirected it to his fingers, letting the stream of energy flow right through them.

A sharp gasp from the person in front of him made Harry open his eyes with worry. .Tony had yet to move away, frozen in his place. There was a dull sting in his shoulder, bringing him back to reality fully. The other was gripping him harshly, probably in a weak attempt at either pushing him away or grounding himself. Faintly, he wondered if he had somehow hurt the other one.

“What...what’s this?” Tony whispered, golden eyes staring at everything as if trying to take it all in. To be honest, the godling could relate to the overwhelming feeling that they provided. Back in his apprentice days, Death had often used this technique to let him borrow his vision to see everything, even if just for a couple of seconds. He had never personally done this, but he had gone through it enough times to imitate it confidently.  
“That, Stark, is the gaze of death.” Harry said with a small nostalgic smile on his face, as he knowingly repeated the words that his mentor had once spoken. “But, what you are seeing, is life.”

That was an overly simplified version of what he was actually seeing, because explaining this unique sense of sight was complicated, even to those who possessed it. It was like seeing the world with a different light, an infinite palette of colors that were constantly changing like some sort of magic show. Actually guiding oneself with it was a matter of years of practice under the proper tutelage and, even then, he was only capable of seeing so much, specially in a place so full of life like Earth was. Truthfully, the golden eyes were extremely unreliable unless you were looking for something in in specific.

After a minute more, he pulled the wisps of energy back into himself, lest he give Tony a headache from the overflowing input. He was hit with a wave of tiredness, as if his energies had been completely stripped from him. As he pulled his hand back, the man blinked at him, looking both confused and disappointed at how muted everything felt right after experiencing death’s sight.

“How does that even work?” The male wondered out loud, staring absentmindedly at his wings, making Harry feel a little self-conscious. “Everything was so...different and colorful.”  
“Yeah...” He stepped back, wings folding tightly against his back. “That’s how it has always been.”  
“Do you know what any of it means?”  
“I do.” He muttered, pulling out one of the nearest chairs and plopping himself down on it, resting his head on his arms. He shifted to accommodate his wings, laying them on the backrest. “I’ll be the first one to admit that everything is quite confusing, though...”  
“What are the golden lines?” He asked excitedly, not noticing just how exhausted the other one looked. “They are tied to everything, are they special?”  
“Those are destiny lines.” He tilted his head ever-so-slightly to look at him. “They belong to the goddess of fate, Lady Skuld. I’m surprised you noticed them, they are extremely thin.” The answer didn’t seem to satisfy the Stark.  
“Fate? As in ‘you don’t make your own choices’ fate?”  
“Well, not...exactly. People can choose what fate they want to follow, but she’s the one that oversees each and every path you are expected to take. She often tries to influence the events of the present to reach her desired results, though.”  
“That doesn’t sound any better.”  
“I...sorry?” Tony finally took a seat as well, shrugging off his apology and looking deep in thought. “So...you believe me now?”  
“I have to, don’t I? I personally don’t think that you actually are a god, you don’t seem omnipotent, omnipresent and you certainly are not all-knowing, but I am not an idiot as to not see that you are something else. Consider me sold on your little story.” Harry nodded and buried his face on his arms, feeling his own eyes hurt from the bright light that illuminated the room. “I do have a question, though. Why were you with us. Don’t you have more important things to do, Mr. god of death?”  
“...’ts part ‘f my job.” He mumbled, voice slurred slightly. “...‘tecting you.”  
“Oh? And what do I owe the pleasure?” Tony asked sarcastically.  
“Luck, probably.” Harry sighed and lifted his head tiredly. “Your soul is special, so I am tasked with making sure you don’t die.”  
“So...I’m immortal?”  
“You wish, Stark. Before you go around throwing yourself out a window, know that I’ll only deter you from unnatural deaths that are within my control.”  
“Eh, fair enough.”

There was a small, awkward silence between them. Despite that, Harry felt a million times more relaxed, eyelids occasionally drooping from how tired he felt. If he was being honest, this was probably the longest interaction that he had had for years and he could feel the weight of each and every second on his weary body.

“When will I be able to go home?” The other’s voice startled him, body posture suddenly rigid like a startled animal. It takes him a moment to calm down.  
“Today evening.” He said slowly. “There are still helicopters searching for you all over Afghanistan, it shouldn't be difficult to find one to go back to…Malibu?”  
“Yes, Malibu. How will we call their attention? I doubt that they're actually blindly combing through cities and towns.”  
“You’re right, they're not.” He agreed “However, they are flying through the desert in a very specific formation in order to maximize their probabilities of finding you. We should be able to put ourselves in their path in order for them to notice you. We have a speculated location of one of them.”  
“Huh, you've thought this out very thoroughly.”  
“I’ve had time.” He shrugged distractedly. “There wasn't much I could do in the cave other than watch. I am not permitted to interact with living souls unless absolutely necessary.”  
“Why not?”  
“I was told not to.”  
“... Why'd you intervene, then? When I was about to be hit by a projectile, I had a way to dodge it.”  
“I…” He blinked, memories of the event blurred like most of his other memories. “I don't know, I just did.”

He remembered...it was an impulse. Something had suddenly screamed at him to move and stop it. The instincts that he didn't know he had kicked in, his magic spreading in front of his hand like some sort of impenetrable wall. He reasoned that maybe it had to do with the fact that Tony's soul was blessed, but, of that was the case, why'd his magic of all things react? Why not his wings or shadows?...He didn't like that it confused him to no end.

“Dobby, please take my plate to the room I'm staying in.” He snapped suddenly, forcing himself to stand up in spite of the heaviness of his limbs.  
“Yes, Master of death, sir!”  
“Wait, you're leaving?”  
“I apologize, I have some things to think about before we go. You can look around the house if you so wish.”

He didn't give Tony any time to react and, with how overwhelmed he felt by his own emotions, he didn't really care either, walking rather hurriedly towards the entrance and wings disappearing into nothingness, lest he bump into something and break it. For the first time in years, it bothered him not to remember things completely and to not have a full control of his actions.

He never saw how the grey eyes of a single portrait followed him when he walked past it before freezing in place once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm trying out a new shading style (You know, without blurring the shadows XD) hope it looks at good as I feel it looks XD  
> So, little side note, I personally think of the golden fate lines like those of that Crewel novel (It’s been a while since I read that book, though, so it probably isn’t and that was just the way I imagined them). Anyways, thank you guys so much for reading up until now!


	5. Another life: First memory

Harry took deep breaths to calm himself down. He sat cross-legged on the room that he was given by Dobby, who claimed that it actually was his from the start. He had seen a picture of Draco in this place, but he lacked any memories regarding it. His body, however, seemed to remember it quite well, because he had used his shadow travel to get here on instinct. He had woken up with a white marble in his hand and a painful ache on his abdomen -he had been hit by a stray bullet, that much he remembered, but it was already bandaged...had he done that? He couldn’t recall...

Besides, although he didn’t remember taking any souls, the marble that flowed with the energy of life suggested otherwise. That made him remember what Stark had mentioned previously about him killing Yinsen...yet it confused him to no end. When he collected souls, he didn’t sing nor did he glow, he was sure that Death or the angels might’ve told him something about it if he did. God, what was happening?!

He forced himself to close his eyes. He focused on his scarce memories, trying to grab at something that could help him out…to his surprise, something pulled him in response. He was used on dwelling in his past and sometimes stumbling upon a memory, but this felt...different. It didn’t quite feel like it was his and it felt more like someone was pushing it onto him. He couldn’t stop his consciousness from fading as the memory didn’t wait for him to call upon it, instead barreling into him like a vicious beast.

All the while, the stone on his chest glowed a warm orange…

Warm...

...He liked this warmth…

It was...familiar.

...Almost like…like...

̞̮͔̬̹M̬͕O̴̮͚̲̥t̛̳͚̭̥̲̙̣H̷̲̣̩̪̩̼e̜͈r͚͓͎͉͝ͅ.̜̜̬̞͔̘

His eyes snapped open at the noise of a knocking on the door, a headache assaulting him. He groaned and rolled around in his bed, annoyed by the loud sound and the light that fell from the skylight, naturally illuminating-Wasn’t it dark?-his room. The knocking persisted as he stood, shivering from the cold marble floor.

What-

“My prince, the king requests your presence at the throne room.” A voice calmly said from the other side-in a language that he didn’t know, but could understand.  
“Tell him that I’ll be there shortly.”  
“Of course, your Highness.”

“Where am I?” Harry mumbles, but the words never leave his mouth.

He runs a hand through his inky black hair-Longer than he remembered-and downs on his usual dress wear: A long sleeved, golden tunic that covered all of his body, hiding his black boots, a long, black vest with flower patterns, a golden sash that held it together at the waist and an elegant cloak with the same patterns as his vest. Just before he leaves, he takes his sheathed sword and fastens it with his sash.

He stepped outside of his chambers and walked down the hall, letting a small sigh escape him as he placed a hand over the hilt of his weapon. Dealing with father wasn’t really his favorite thing in the world, but there was little that he could do about it. He took a deep breath before he opened the doors to the throne room, walking under the drowning sensation of his father’s presence and kneeling before him, avoiding any eye contact.

“You wished to speak with me, father?”  
“...Yes.” He said and he could feel how he stared at him, almost as if he was annoyed by him. The feeling was mutual. “Your sister and I will be parting in a couple of days towards the frontlines. Until our return, you will be in charge of overseeing our people alongside your mother.” His eyes snapped wide open as he looked at the old king.  
“What-father, that’s far too rash!” He shouted, unable to contain his shock. He turned at his mother, who sat beside his father, but she avoided his eyes. “Mother, surely you don’t agree with this?”  
“Enough.” His father’s voice rumbled. “My men have told me that Odin has made his move. If I am not there, he will easily tear through our army.” He felt the king’s glare, making him flinch and bow down his head once more.  
“If that’s the case, then why take my sister? Both of us have just begun our training. Pushing her out would be casting a death sentence upon her.”  
“Don’t question my decisions.” The other’s harsh voice left room for no response. Deep down, however, he knew the reason as to why. “You must only obey any order that I dictate, unless you doubt my capability of looking over my own kingdom?” He doubted it, very much actually, but he knew that was a trick question. He gritted his teeth and shook his head.  
“I...No, father. I apologize.”  
“Perfect. Your duties will be to go over any paperwork that the guards bring and make rounds along with the guards to make sure that everything is in order. You are dismissed.”

He nodded and stood up, lifting his gaze ever so slightly to try and catch a glimpse of his mother. When he did, he was faced with a disgruntled expression that was so fast that he barely had any time to catch it. He made a hasty retreat, a frown on his face.

He was born in war.

Well, ‘born’ was a strong term, he wasn’t born in the middle of a battlefield, but his eyes were familiar with death and his memory was plagued with blood. He was taught to greet fear like a friend and to spread destruction wherever he pleased. From a very young age, he was taught all of this by his father, the master of the tides. His father meant cold and despair to those who came across him and he was supposed to walk in his footsteps.

His mother, however, didn’t agree with his ideals. She liked being diplomatic and, although she was often quiet, everybody knew her for being kind and caring. She was young and delicate in comparison to his father, almost like a flower. Some would even wonder if she wasn’t actually a goddess of beauty. She, too, told him her tales. She praised him when he was polite and she’d laugh melodically when he made a mistake instead of berating him.

Like day and night, his parents were perfect parallels for each other.

“Mother-” He remembered that he had once asked, her green gaze calmly settling on his as she stopped tending to the garden that she loved so much. “-why is it that you stay by father’s side if you disagree with what he does?” For a split second, he saw her beautiful smile falter before coming back full force, as if reassuring him that nothing could ever go wrong.  
“Because I love him, my child, just like I love you.” She looked up at the nightly sky. “Love, you’ll learn, is a very strong emotion. It is capable of washing your fears away and making you strong enough to protect those you hold dear.”  
“...If love is so powerful, then why doesn’t father use it to fight, mother? Wouldn’t the wars be over if he did?” Her lips pressed as she frowned. He didn’t like seeing her without a smile.  
“Sometimes...” She started, voice lowering a notch. “Other emotions, such as fear and hate, can make others wary and aggressive. Love is strong, young one, and if you have enough determination, you can do the impossible through it, but it isn’t invincible, because love is an emotion and beings who have emotions also have weaknesses...But that isn’t that bad, isn’t it?”  
“And why is that so, mother?”  
“Because it means that we are alive.”

His thoughts were interrupted by someone bumping into him. He didn’t need to look to know that it was his sister. Like their father, she reeked of something that he couldn’t quite place. It was like tar, thick and sticky. Standing too near to either of them made his skin feel tainted by something disgusting.

“Oh, brother, I didn’t see you there!” Her voice was oblivious, like he hadn’t been walking right in the middle of the hall. He responded in a deadpan.  
“Sister.”  
“Did you hear the news?”  
“Can’t say that I haven’t.” He tried to side-step her, but the grip on his arm made him stop.  
“Aw, come on, brother, don’t be so cold. Won’t you at least say goodbye to your gentle little sister?”

He let out a small snort before he shook his head, pulling his arm out from her harsh grasp. Gentle was a bit of an overstatement, considering that she was a monster during their training sessions. Yes, he knew why his father had chose her. While he was adept at fighting, knowing that sometimes violence was necessary, she craved for the violence. The fact that her abilities were several times more flexible only added to her dangerousness. Plus, she was capable of controlling forces that far exceeded his comprehension.

“Good luck or whatever.”  
“See? Was that so hard to say?”  
“Very.” He rolled his eyes, receiving a painful jab at the ribs. He hissed and glared. “Do you have to wear that armour everywhere you go?”  
“One must always be prepared for battle, brother.”  
“Yes, but we are in the middle of the castle.” He sighed and gave her a small smile, trying to ignore the stench that, from what he had many times asked, only he could smell. “Be careful out there, you brat. You better write me.”  
“You can bet I will. I hope you don’t die with all the paperwork you have to do while we aren’t here.”

He shoved her lightly and hugged her, careful of not stabbing himself with the several spikes along her armour, definitely not thinking about how he couldn’t breathe once again. They both said their goodbyes and went their own ways since they had stuff to do. He might not like his father, but he loved his little sister dearly. He’d be hard-pressed to say he didn’t fear for her in spite of her ability.

His father had always liked his sister more because she had power over something that not many other gods could brag about. She had the power over death amongst many other aspects like magic and prophecy. How could making flowers bloom even compare to the overwhelming power that was one of the primordial aspects of existence? It's simple, there was no comparison.

At noon, he and his mother, along with their personal guards, were standing not too far to the entrance of the Bifrost, the bridge that connected their world to many others, except, of course, Asgard. The connection used to be used for trading, but they had taken to using it to invade other worlds. His mother smiled, a hand on his shoulder as they watched the bright light engulf everything in sight. They had to look away, but, by the time that they were able to open their eyes, the small battalion that his father had gathered along with his sister was gone.

The days went by like normal, if a bit duller without his sister’s antics. Some days, he’d be going over some treaties and letters that were sent from their war and trading allies. Others, he’d go out and interact with his people. As it turns out, they had plenty to say and do. There were times when they’d teach him how to grow crops -hence why he was currently growing a small apple tree in their garden- and sometimes they’d teach him how to deal with children. More often than not, he’d be reading alongside his mother or practicing with his godly blessing.

However, not everything was always bright. There were times when a group of wounded gods would come through the Bifrost. They’d do what they could, but it was far too late most of the time. It wasn’t long before rumours started to circulate. Apparently, a dying goddess had spoken of a pair of deadly gods that stood beside Odin. True beasts that easily slayed anyone that faced them and, from what he had heard, one of them was especially deadly, able to go toe to toe against his sister in terms of power.

Although he feared that they might be true, he guessed that his sister would’ve mentioned gods like those in her letters, which she hadn’t. Last thing he knew form her, which wasn’t that long ago, was that they were on a standstill on the land of the dark elves, trying to fight against their army as well since they were also trying to conquer like both of the god races.

He tried to dismiss the rumours as some sort of overexaggeration from the pain, but time went on and their numbers were dwindling. About a year had passed and the general morale of their people was extremely low. Everyone seemed to be losing faith that this would soon be over. Even his mother seemed to always be tired, often seen staring at the Bifrost intently. It had also been three months since he had last heard of his sister, the longest that she had been without communication, the second longest being just three weeks.

He had been pacing for the last hour and a half, reading through the library’s titles without really reading them at all. He had been trying to come up with a way that he could help his sister. Their allies were just as bad as they were currently, the earth giants had even retreated long ago. He couldn’t negotiate with Odin, many had tried before and look what had happened after that, they were basically slaves.

His eyes landed on one of the books, a strange feeling overcoming him. It wasn’t very attention grabbing, merely leatherbound and very old, as if no one had taken good care of it. Despite his current dilemma, he took it out, reading the cover.

K̨̡̢̯̜̳͇͙̬͇̤͓̓ͯͫ̽͛ͯ̇͆̓̈ȏ̸̶̜̫̱̤ͣ̃͐ͭ͆̀͢͠ŝ̢͔̥̗̥̫̜̉ͩ̂̎ͧ̿̊̽̌͛̂ͮ͆͌͜m̜̜̗̬̰̝͈̮̺̻͔͕̖̝ͣ̆̓̽̀͑̄ͪ͐̊̎̋ͥ͆̇́͌̽̚͜͠͝i̢̨̛͖̯̗̬͇̝͇̤̬͉̘̺̦̜͌̈ͧ́s̸̵͙̠͓̪̟͇͖̠̝͎̪͉̪̤̩͈ͤ̄́̿̿ͮ̀ͬͤ͐͂̓̉̓͐̿̅͗̃͜͠͡k̵̛̛̲͍̲͇͚̹̞̤̮̜͖̼͙̬̼̓̔͌́̌̿͆ͭ̃́̉ͥ̏̅͘͡ạ̸̞̖ͩ̃͋ͥ͊͛ͦ̿̋̕ ̴̵̡̘̦̥̣̓ͮ̂ͪ̂̾͂̈̎͡s̷̲̤̼̰̗̥̽ͫ̊̎̍͗̓̓ͮ́̽̚͞i̴̺͙̫̮̜͖̮̦̋ͭ̅ͩ̍͌͜͝ͅn̵̬͉̱̘͈͖̺̮̭̯̻̜̗̗͆͛̄̂̄͂ͫͥ͌͜͝g̵͎̯͙̼͙̳̺̦͖̮̘̞̲͍̤̭̭̮̣ͮ͋ͧ̕͟ú̋̃͌͋̇ͬͫ̂͘҉̴͏̟͉̖̗̭l̡̘̭̖̘̞͉̼̱̬ͭͫ̅̄̅ͯͮ͂̈́̂̿͊̂̌̑͌ͩͣ̚͢͠a̴̴̵̟̰̱̠̭̜͔̭̼͍ͧ͋ͮ̚͞ͅr̶̴̛͖̜̹͎̱̘̞̘̗̩͎̙̠̼̹̞̞̎̽̎̓̅ͯͮ̀̿ͣ̚͘͠ỉ̡̛̒͛̏ͩ̾ͫ̓͏̡̨͎͔̩̩͇̹͈̮̬̯ţ̸̷̻͓̝͈̣͍̪̜̫̰̳̻͙͎̘͈̳̂̓̿̍ͥ͑͆͒̾͑̍̀͗̀͟e̷̤͉̣͇̹͎̝̠̣̭͍̳̦͎̜͂̔̽̇͋̀͑̿̂͋̽͗̒̏̈ͯ̇̋̚̕͢ͅt̨̞̯̟̗̮͇̥̯̝̙̟̱͖̪̙͉̜̘̼̆͊͂̋̉͊́͆̉̐ͧ̃̆͊̕e̟̲͈̪̎ͥ̔̑ͦ̊͋̅̓̄͌͜͠r͖͕̹̩̟̤̠̦̜͎̞̍̄̅̿̍̆̓͒͛͜ͅ K̨̡̢̯̜̳͇͙̬͇̤͓̓ͯͫ̽͛ͯ̇͆̓̈ȏ̸̶̜̫̱̤ͣ̃͐ͭ͆̀͢͠ŝ̢͔̥̗̥̫̜̉ͩ̂̎ͧ̿̊̽̌͛̂ͮ͆͌͜m̜̜̗̬̰̝͈̮̺̻͔͕̖̝ͣ̆̓̽̀͑̄ͪ͐̊̎̋ͥ͆̇́͌̽̚͜͠͝i̢̨̛͖̯̗̬͇̝͇̤̬͉̘̺̦̜͌̈ͧ́s̸̵͙̠͓̪̟͇͖̠̝͎̪͉̪̤̩͈ͤ̄́̿̿ͮ̀ͬͤ͐͂̓̉̓͐̿̅͗̃͜͠͡k̵̛̛̲͍̲͇͚̹̞̤̮̜͖̼͙̬̼̓̔͌́̌̿͆ͭ̃́̉ͥ̏̅͘͡ạ̸̞̖ͩ̃͋ͥ͊͛ͦ̿̋̕ ̴̵̡̘̦̥̣̓ͮ̂ͪ̂̾͂̈̎͡s̷̲̤̼̰̗̥̽ͫ̊̎̍͗̓̓ͮ́̽̚͞i̴̺͙̫̮̜͖̮̦̋ͭ̅ͩ̍͌͜͝ͅn̵̬͉̱̘͈͖̺̮̭̯̻̜̗̗͆͛̄̂̄͂ͫͥ͌͜͝g̵͎̯͙̼͙̳̺̦͖̮̘̞̲͍̤̭̭̮̣ͮ͋ͧ̕͟ú̋̃͌͋̇ͬͫ̂͘҉̴͏̟͉̖̗̭l̡̘̭̖̘̞͉̼̱̬ͭͫ̅̄̅ͯͮ͂̈́̂̿͊̂̌̑͌ͩͣ̚͢͠a̴̴̵̟̰̱̠̭̜͔̭̼͍ͧ͋ͮ̚͞ͅr̶̴̛͖̜̹͎̱̘̞̘̗̩͎̙̠̼̹̞̞̎̽̎̓̅ͯͮ̀̿ͣ̚͘͠ỉ̡̛̒͛̏ͩ̾ͫ̓͏̡̨͎͔̩̩͇̹͈̮̬̯ţ̸̷̻͓̝͈̣͍̪̜̫̰̳̻͙͎̘͈̳̂̓̿̍ͥ͑͆͒̾͑̍̀͗̀͟e̷̤͉̣͇̹͎̝̠̣̭͍̳̦͎̜͂̔̽̇͋̀͑̿̂͋̽͗̒̏̈ͯ̇̋̚̕͢ͅt̨̞̯̟̗̮͇̥̯̝̙̟̱͖̪̙͉̜̘̼̆͊͂̋̉͊́͆̉̐ͧ̃̆͊̕e̟̲͈̪̎ͥ̔̑ͦ̊͋̅̓̄͌͜͠r͖͕̹̩̟̤̠̦̜͎̞̍̄̅̿̍̆̓͒͛͜ͅ K̨̡̢̯̜̳͇͙̬͇̤͓̓ͯͫ̽͛ͯ̇͆̓̈ȏ̸̶̜̫̱̤ͣ̃͐ͭ͆̀͢͠ŝ̢͔̥̗̥̫̜̉ͩ̂̎ͧ̿̊̽̌͛̂ͮ͆͌͜m̜̜̗̬̰̝͈̮̺̻͔͕̖̝ͣ̆̓̽̀͑̄ͪ͐̊̎̋ͥ͆̇́͌̽̚͜͠͝i̢̨̛͖̯̗̬͇̝͇̤̬͉̘̺̦̜͌̈ͧ́s̸̵͙̠͓̪̟͇͖̠̝͎̪͉̪̤̩͈ͤ̄́̿̿ͮ̀ͬͤ͐͂̓̉̓͐̿̅͗̃͜͠͡k̵̛̛̲͍̲͇͚̹̞̤̮̜͖̼͙̬̼̓̔͌́̌̿͆ͭ̃́̉ͥ̏̅͘͡ạ̸̞̖ͩ̃͋ͥ͊͛ͦ̿̋̕ ̴̵̡̘̦̥̣̓ͮ̂ͪ̂̾͂̈̎͡s̷̲̤̼̰̗̥̽ͫ̊̎̍͗̓̓ͮ́̽̚͞i̴̺͙̫̮̜͖̮̦̋ͭ̅ͩ̍͌͜͝ͅn̵̬͉̱̘͈͖̺̮̭̯̻̜̗̗͆͛̄̂̄͂ͫͥ͌͜͝g̵͎̯͙̼͙̳̺̦͖̮̘̞̲͍̤̭̭̮̣ͮ͋ͧ̕͟ú̋̃͌͋̇ͬͫ̂͘҉̴͏̟͉̖̗̭l̡̘̭̖̘̞͉̼̱̬ͭͫ̅̄̅ͯͮ͂̈́̂̿͊̂̌̑͌ͩͣ̚͢͠a̴̴̵̟̰̱̠̭̜͔̭̼͍ͧ͋ͮ̚͞ͅr̶̴̛͖̜̹͎̱̘̞̘̗̩͎̙̠̼̹̞̞̎̽̎̓̅ͯͮ̀̿ͣ̚͘͠ỉ̡̛̒͛̏ͩ̾ͫ̓͏̡̨͎͔̩̩͇̹͈̮̬̯ţ̸̷̻͓̝͈̣͍̪̜̫̰̳̻͙͎̘͈̳̂̓̿̍ͥ͑͆͒̾͑̍̀͗̀͟e̷̤͉̣͇̹͎̝̠̣̭͍̳̦͎̜͂̔̽̇͋̀͑̿̂͋̽͗̒̏̈ͯ̇̋̚̕͢ͅt̨̞̯̟̗̮͇̥̯̝̙̟̱͖̪̙͉̜̘̼̆͊͂̋̉͊́͆̉̐ͧ̃̆͊̕e̟̲͈̪̎ͥ̔̑ͦ̊͋̅̓̄͌͜͠r͖͕̹̩̟̤̠̦̜͎̞̍̄̅̿̍̆̓͒͛͜ͅ K̨̡̢̯̜̳͇͙̬͇̤͓̓ͯͫ̽͛ͯ̇͆̓̈ȏ̸̶̜̫̱̤ͣ̃͐ͭ͆̀͢͠ŝ̢͔̥̗̥̫̜̉ͩ̂̎ͧ̿̊̽̌͛̂ͮ͆͌͜m̜̜̗̬̰̝͈̮̺̻͔͕̖̝ͣ̆̓̽̀͑̄ͪ͐̊̎̋ͥ͆̇́͌̽̚͜͠͝i̢̨̛͖̯̗̬͇̝͇̤̬͉̘̺̦̜͌̈ͧ́s̸̵͙̠͓̪̟͇͖̠̝͎̪͉̪̤̩͈ͤ̄́̿̿ͮ̀ͬͤ͐͂̓̉̓͐̿̅͗̃͜͠͡k̵̛̛̲͍̲͇͚̹̞̤̮̜͖̼͙̬̼̓̔͌́̌̿͆ͭ̃́̉ͥ̏̅͘͡ạ̸̞̖ͩ̃͋ͥ͊͛ͦ̿̋̕ ̴̵̡̘̦̥̣̓ͮ̂ͪ̂̾͂̈̎͡s̷̲̤̼̰̗̥̽ͫ̊̎̍͗̓̓ͮ́̽̚͞i̴̺͙̫̮̜͖̮̦̋ͭ̅ͩ̍͌͜͝ͅn̵̬͉̱̘͈͖̺̮̭̯̻̜̗̗͆͛̄̂̄͂ͫͥ͌͜͝g̵͎̯͙̼͙̳̺̦͖̮̘̞̲͍̤̭̭̮̣ͮ͋ͧ̕͟ú̋̃͌͋̇ͬͫ̂͘҉̴͏̟͉̖̗̭l̡̘̭̖̘̞͉̼̱̬ͭͫ̅̄̅ͯͮ͂̈́̂̿͊̂̌̑͌ͩͣ̚͢͠a̴̴̵̟̰̱̠̭̜͔̭̼͍ͧ͋ͮ̚͞ͅr̶̴̛͖̜̹͎̱̘̞̘̗̩͎̙̠̼̹̞̞̎̽̎̓̅ͯͮ̀̿ͣ̚͘͠ỉ̡̛̒͛̏ͩ̾ͫ̓͏̡̨͎͔̩̩͇̹͈̮̬̯ţ̸̷̻͓̝͈̣͍̪̜̫̰̳̻͙͎̘͈̳̂̓̿̍ͥ͑͆͒̾͑̍̀͗̀͟e̷̤͉̣͇̹͎̝̠̣̭͍̳̦͎̜͂̔̽̇͋̀͑̿̂͋̽͗̒̏̈ͯ̇̋̚̕͢ͅt̨̞̯̟̗̮͇̥̯̝̙̟̱͖̪̙͉̜̘̼̆͊͂̋̉͊́͆̉̐ͧ̃̆͊̕e̟̲͈̪̎ͥ̔̑ͦ̊͋̅̓̄͌͜͠r͖͕̹̩̟̤̠̦̜͎̞̍̄̅̿̍̆̓͒͛͜ͅ K̨̡̢̯̜̳͇͙̬͇̤͓̓ͯͫ̽͛ͯ̇͆̓̈ȏ̸̶̜̫̱̤ͣ̃͐ͭ͆̀͢͠ŝ̢͔̥̗̥̫̜̉ͩ̂̎ͧ̿̊̽̌͛̂ͮ͆͌͜m̜̜̗̬̰̝͈̮̺̻͔͕̖̝ͣ̆̓̽̀͑̄ͪ͐̊̎̋ͥ͆̇́͌̽̚͜͠͝i̢̨̛͖̯̗̬͇̝͇̤̬͉̘̺̦̜͌̈ͧ́s̸̵͙̠͓̪̟͇͖̠̝͎̪͉̪̤̩͈ͤ̄́̿̿ͮ̀ͬͤ͐͂̓̉̓͐̿̅͗̃͜͠͡k̵̛̛̲͍̲͇͚̹̞̤̮̜͖̼͙̬̼̓̔͌́̌̿͆ͭ̃́̉ͥ̏̅͘͡ạ̸̞̖ͩ̃͋ͥ͊͛ͦ̿̋̕ ̴̵̡̘̦̥̣̓ͮ̂ͪ̂̾͂̈̎͡s̷̲̤̼̰̗̥̽ͫ̊̎̍͗̓̓ͮ́̽̚͞i̴̺͙̫̮̜͖̮̦̋ͭ̅ͩ̍͌͜͝ͅn̵̬͉̱̘͈͖̺̮̭̯̻̜̗̗͆͛̄̂̄͂ͫͥ͌͜͝g̵͎̯͙̼͙̳̺̦͖̮̘̞̲͍̤̭̭̮̣ͮ͋ͧ̕͟ú̋̃͌͋̇ͬͫ̂͘҉̴͏̟͉̖̗̭l̡̘̭̖̘̞͉̼̱̬ͭͫ̅̄̅ͯͮ͂̈́̂̿͊̂̌̑͌ͩͣ̚͢͠a̴̴̵̟̰̱̠̭̜͔̭̼͍ͧ͋ͮ̚͞ͅr̶̴̛͖̜̹͎̱̘̞̘̗̩͎̙̠̼̹̞̞̎̽̎̓̅ͯͮ̀̿ͣ̚͘͠ỉ̡̛̒͛̏ͩ̾ͫ̓͏̡̨͎͔̩̩͇̹͈̮̬̯ţ̸̷̻͓̝͈̣͍̪̜̫̰̳̻͙͎̘͈̳̂̓̿̍ͥ͑͆͒̾͑̍̀͗̀͟e̷̤͉̣͇̹͎̝̠̣̭͍̳̦͎̜͂̔̽̇͋̀͑̿̂͋̽͗̒̏̈ͯ̇̋̚̕͢ͅt̨̞̯̟̗̮͇̥̯̝̙̟̱͖̪̙͉̜̘̼̆͊͂̋̉͊́͆̉̐ͧ̃̆͊̕e̟̲͈̪̎ͥ̔̑ͦ̊͋̅̓̄͌͜͠r͖͕̹̩̟̤̠̦̜͎̞̍̄̅̿̍̆̓͒͛͜ͅ K̨̡̢̯̜̳͇͙̬͇̤͓̓ͯͫ̽͛ͯ̇͆̓̈ȏ̸̶̜̫̱̤ͣ̃͐ͭ͆̀͢͠ŝ̢͔̥̗̥̫̜̉ͩ̂̎ͧ̿̊̽̌͛̂ͮ͆͌͜m̜̜̗̬̰̝͈̮̺̻͔͕̖̝ͣ̆̓̽̀͑̄ͪ͐̊̎̋ͥ͆̇́͌̽̚͜͠͝i̢̨̛͖̯̗̬͇̝͇̤̬͉̘̺̦̜͌̈ͧ́s̸̵͙̠͓̪̟͇͖̠̝͎̪͉̪̤̩͈ͤ̄́̿̿ͮ̀ͬͤ͐͂̓̉̓͐̿̅͗̃͜͠͡k̵̛̛̲͍̲͇͚̹̞̤̮̜͖̼͙̬̼̓̔͌́̌̿͆ͭ̃́̉ͥ̏̅͘͡ạ̸̞̖ͩ̃͋ͥ͊͛ͦ̿̋̕ ̴̵̡̘̦̥̣̓ͮ̂ͪ̂̾͂̈̎͡s̷̲̤̼̰̗̥̽ͫ̊̎̍͗̓̓ͮ́̽̚͞i̴̺͙̫̮̜͖̮̦̋ͭ̅ͩ̍͌͜͝ͅn̵̬͉̱̘͈͖̺̮̭̯̻̜̗̗͆͛̄̂̄͂ͫͥ͌͜͝g̵͎̯͙̼͙̳̺̦͖̮̘̞̲͍̤̭̭̮̣ͮ͋ͧ̕͟ú̋̃͌͋̇ͬͫ̂͘҉̴͏̟͉̖̗̭l̡̘̭̖̘̞͉̼̱̬ͭͫ̅̄̅ͯͮ͂̈́̂̿͊̂̌̑͌ͩͣ̚͢͠a̴̴̵̟̰̱̠̭̜͔̭̼͍ͧ͋ͮ̚͞ͅr̶̴̛͖̜̹͎̱̘̞̘̗̩͎̙̠̼̹̞̞̎̽̎̓̅ͯͮ̀̿ͣ̚͘͠ỉ̡̛̒͛̏ͩ̾ͫ̓͏̡̨͎͔̩̩͇̹͈̮̬̯ţ̸̷̻͓̝͈̣͍̪̜̫̰̳̻͙͎̘͈̳̂̓̿̍ͥ͑͆͒̾͑̍̀͗̀͟e̷̤͉̣͇̹͎̝̠̣̭͍̳̦͎̜͂̔̽̇͋̀͑̿̂͋̽͗̒̏̈ͯ̇̋̚̕͢ͅt̨̞̯̟̗̮͇̥̯̝̙̟̱͖̪̙͉̜̘̼̆͊͂̋̉͊́͆̉̐ͧ̃̆͊̕e̟̲͈̪̎ͥ̔̑ͦ̊͋̅̓̄͌͜͠r͖͕̹̩̟̤̠̦̜͎̞̍̄̅̿̍̆̓͒͛͜ͅ K̨̡̢̯̜̳͇͙̬͇̤͓̓ͯͫ̽͛ͯ̇͆̓̈ȏ̸̶̜̫̱̤ͣ̃͐ͭ͆̀͢͠ŝ̢͔̥̗̥̫̜̉ͩ̂̎ͧ̿̊̽̌͛̂ͮ͆͌͜m̜̜̗̬̰̝͈̮̺̻͔͕̖̝ͣ̆̓̽̀͑̄ͪ͐̊̎̋ͥ͆̇́͌̽̚͜͠͝i̢̨̛͖̯̗̬͇̝͇̤̬͉̘̺̦̜͌̈ͧ́s̸̵͙̠͓̪̟͇͖̠̝͎̪͉̪̤̩͈ͤ̄́̿̿ͮ̀ͬͤ͐͂̓̉̓͐̿̅͗̃͜͠͡k̵̛̛̲͍̲͇͚̹̞̤̮̜͖̼͙̬̼̓̔͌́̌̿͆ͭ̃́̉ͥ̏̅͘͡ạ̸̞̖ͩ̃͋ͥ͊͛ͦ̿̋̕ ̴̵̡̘̦̥̣̓ͮ̂ͪ̂̾͂̈̎͡s̷̲̤̼̰̗̥̽ͫ̊̎̍͗̓̓ͮ́̽̚͞i̴̺͙̫̮̜͖̮̦̋ͭ̅ͩ̍͌͜͝ͅn̵̬͉̱̘͈͖̺̮̭̯̻̜̗̗͆͛̄̂̄͂ͫͥ͌͜͝g̵͎̯͙̼͙̳̺̦͖̮̘̞̲͍̤̭̭̮̣ͮ͋ͧ̕͟ú̋̃͌͋̇ͬͫ̂͘҉̴͏̟͉̖̗̭l̡̘̭̖̘̞͉̼̱̬ͭͫ̅̄̅ͯͮ͂̈́̂̿͊̂̌̑͌ͩͣ̚͢͠a̴̴̵̟̰̱̠̭̜͔̭̼͍ͧ͋ͮ̚͞ͅr̶̴̛͖̜̹͎̱̘̞̘̗̩͎̙̠̼̹̞̞̎̽̎̓̅ͯͮ̀̿ͣ̚͘͠ỉ̡̛̒͛̏ͩ̾ͫ̓͏̡̨͎͔̩̩͇̹͈̮̬̯ţ̸̷̻͓̝͈̣͍̪̜̫̰̳̻͙͎̘͈̳̂̓̿̍ͥ͑͆͒̾͑̍̀͗̀͟e̷̤͉̣͇̹͎̝̠̣̭͍̳̦͎̜͂̔̽̇͋̀͑̿̂͋̽͗̒̏̈ͯ̇̋̚̕͢ͅt̨̞̯̟̗̮͇̥̯̝̙̟̱͖̪̙͉̜̘̼̆͊͂̋̉͊́͆̉̐ͧ̃̆͊̕e̟̲͈̪̎ͥ̔̑ͦ̊͋̅̓̄͌͜͠r͖͕̹̩̟̤̠̦̜͎̞̍̄̅̿̍̆̓͒͛͜ͅ

 

Harry gasped, feeling out of breath and shivering aggressively. His head pounded and his vision blurred. He felt someone touch his back and he couldn’t help but to swing his wings at it, feeling them make contact and a distant squeal coming from somewhere along with a crack. He hadn’t noticed when he had called his wings, but they also felt as if they were burning. He struggled to take deep breaths, but he eventually managed, feeling lightheaded and his whole body pulsating with vivid pain.

As his vision cleared, however, he noticed that a big frightened pair of eyes stared at him from across the room. He felt heavy, but he slowly pushed himself up, swaying slightly in the process.

“Dobby?” He asked, his throat feeling dry. The house elf gulped and nodded quickly as its trembling hands pointed at the door.  
“D-Dobby is sorry for bothering, Master of death, sir!” The elf squeaked. “T-Tony Stark asks h-how much longer you will take.”  
“I...What time is it?”  
“A-around five, sir!” Harry blinked sluggishly and nodded.  
“I’ll be down in a second.” He answered, finally feeling his body starting to function a little better. The elf didn’t stay there any longer, practically darting for the exit, much to his confusion.

He carefully walked, calling his wings to himself so that he could regain his balance. He went downstairs, ignoring just how much sensitive he felt. His senses seemed to be hyper aware of everything and his magic was buzzing louder than he had ever heard it. He finally found the Stark genius on the living room, lazily sitting down with his head tilted back. That is, until he stepped closer.

“Finally. There’s so much one can do while waiting, you know?” The blue eyed male sighed as he lifted his head to look at him with an analytical stare.  
“I am aware.”  
“...You look tired.” The other pointed out.  
“Well, I don’t feel tired.” He lied before reaching out with a hand. “We’re leaving now.”  
“Will Dobby take us there with his little trick?” Tony asked as he took his hand, visibly a lot less tense than a couple of hours earlier.  
“...More or less.” He mumbled and he focused on Death’s blessing once more.

He heard a small gasp of amazement as he felt the shadows rise from the ground. Their grasp was colder than usual and he could’ve sword that he heard them whispering, but, in just under a second, they had disappeared from Grimmauld place, leaving several moving eyes in their wake.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoho, new characters...or are they? This chapter is (I think, I’m kinda too lazy to check) the longest I have written for this story (And it certainly isn’t the last one of this type)! Anyways, thanks for reading ;)


	6. Break

Time, everyone knew, was of essence when searching for someone who had been kidnapped. By now, a full three months after they had last heard of the man known as Tony Stark, all media outlets expressed the public’s lack of belief on finding the millionaire. Reluctant of accepting that reality, however, James Rhodes had stretched the search for just a little longer. He had a feeling they were so close to finding his old friend.

One early morning, a report came in from one of the other helicopters he had been assigned. Apparently, there had been some sort of explosion, if it could even be called that. There were no burns on the endless patches of sand, but a cave system was exposed by it. His hunch seemed to not be that incorrect, because further investigation revealed what looked like something that used to be some sort of base of operations, with bodies sprawled everywhere, scorched beyond recognition. At some point, some of their electronic equipment started failing them as well.

They couldn’t go very far because the cave system had collapsed, but he couldn’t shrug off the feeling that something unnatural had happened here. Maybe it was the stinging feeling in the air or that he felt as if something was watching them constantly, but it unnerved him greatly. Besides, if Tony had been there, there was next to no chance that he had gotten out.

With his hopes almost completely destroyed, he was shocked to receive a message that afternoon from the very same helicopter that had informed them about the explosion. Rhodes had felt lightheaded when their words of having found Tony alive came through. He didn’t even remember ordering to give him first aid while they went back to a safe base before they could go back home since his mind had just taken a backseat to try and comprehend that his friend wasn’t, in fact, dead.

They met up with all of the searching teams once they were there. After thanking them for their service and being debriefed on the gist of the situation, he hurried to the sick-bay, feeling slightly anxious as if his brain wasn’t completely sure that this wasn’t a cruel joke -Of course, it wasn’t, but he couldn’t shut up that little doubtful part of him. He forced himself to calm down before he pushed the door open, hoping that Tony was awake at the very least.

As he entered the room, however, he was surprised to see that Tony didn’t look half as bad as he had expected him to look. He was sweating, yes, but he didn’t look as if he had been trailing through the desert for days. He had a disheveled and overall messy appearance, but, yet again, it was nothing out of this world. He sat in one of the beds, one of his arms on a cast and eyes fixated at him as if asking him if he needed something, and if not, if he could go away before his expression broke into his usual smirk. He had a hard time holding back a laugh at how...normal he looked.

“How was the fun-vee?” He asked sarcastically, only to receive a shrug in response.  
“Eh, I’d give it a two out of ten, wouldn’t recommend.” The coronel rolled his eyes.  
“Of course. You look...lively.” His words fell slightly as he spotted something that looked like a blue circle underneath the other’s shirt. “What is that?” Tony blinked at him confusedly before he looked down at his chest, his mouth forming an ‘o’ shape in realization.  
“You remember the Arc reactor back at home?”  
“That supper battery that powers your building, right?”  
“Yeah, that one. I adapted it and it is basically keeping me alive.”  
“...Why am I not surprised?” Tony waved him off, pushing himself up and nearly stumbling in the process.  
“‘Cause I’m me and I’m awesome.”

The coronel could only shake his head with a sense of fondness. Seeing Tony here, being...well, himself, felt so surreal. He felt an overwhelming relief and most of the rational questions, like why he didn’t look absurdly dehydrated or weak from traveling through the desert or how he had escaped, were pushed aside for a later date. He focused in the now, in the fact that his friend was alive. He never noticed how distracted Tony seemed, as if he was off into his own, mental world.

To Tony, the next hours felt like they went by in a flash. Sure, he had had time to recover back at Grimmauld place or whatever, but he and Harry had been walking through the desert for a long time, about an hour give or take and not only did he feel tired, but one of his legs hurt a lot more than the other. Now that he had gotten a basic check up, he was informed that he had strained a muscle in said leg, which was annoying because they insisted that he kept walking to a minimum for the moment.

The plus side of it all was that, all the while, he was able to see a pretty interesting piece of technology at work. Well, ‘seeing’ wasn’t the right word, because it was invisible, but the point stood. After they had arrived to the desert after several stops along the way through what Harry described as shadows -which, first of all, cool, and second of all, what the hell?- the male had taken out of thin air what looked like a silver piece of cloth, just to turn it around and put it over himself, effectively disappearing from sight.

He wondered if he’d be willing to let him borrow it...for science, of course.

Every now and again, he’d receive a small nudge or a pat on the arm, as if reminding or reassuring him that he was still there. He didn’t doubt it, but it was a rather nice gesture considering how standoffish and uncaring the male seemed at first glance, with his endless green stare and initially professional demeanor.

Eventually, Rhodey took him -on a wheelchair, mind you- to the plane that’d take them back to the states. He had had to debrief everything that had happened to him from start to finish to the colonel for official reasons, leaving out some bits and pieces. He used rest the time they traveled to sleep, fully intending on being as awake as he could be once they arrived.

The landing was as smooth as it could be and, as the back of the plane opened to let them out, Tony was suddenly hit by just how long it had been since he had been captured. Sure, he wasn’t aware of most of it, probably because of the heavy blood loss that he had sustained, but everything felt livelier than he remembered. He was brought out of his thoughts by James’ voice as he warned him about a possible misstep. He lifted his head, rolling his eyes at the stretcher that was being rolled towards them.

“Are you kidding me with that? Get rid of them.” He said with finality, earning himself a small snort from Harry, who followed them close enough to let himself be heard by only him. Rhodey immediately motioned at the paramedics, making them stop before he let him walk the rest of the path to his car on his own. It wasn’t impossible, just painful.

Pepper Potts, his beautiful redheaded assistant, stood next to the vehicle, looking as tired as she was relieved, her eyes were puffy and her posture was still a bit tense, nevertheless, one could tell that she was somewhat happy to see him. He approached and stood in front of her, keeping on a calm facade as he spoke.

“Your eyes are red. A few tears for your long lost boss?” She gave him a small smile.  
“Tears of joy. I hate job hunting.”  
“Yeah, vacation’s over.”

He had started to walk after Pepper when he felt a hand grip his wrist. Before he could ask Harry what he wanted, he felt something being placed in the palm of his hand. It felt cold and, to his surprise, it stung him as if he had put his hand against a peeled cable. He turned his head to glare at the general area where he felt that the other stood.

“What the hell-”  
“-Just put it on, I'll be right behind you.” The other’s tired voice was right next to his ear.

He blinked at the empty space as the grasp disappeared, letting him move freely. He looked down at his palm, only to recognize the object as the necklace that he had seen around Harry’s neck back at Grimmauld place. He sighed to himself and put it around his own neck as he stared intently at the gemstone it held...at least, that’s what he thought it was, who knew with the strange things that had happened recently.

“Tony?” The Stark jumped slightly, startled and winced at the sudden sting on his leg. “Are you okay?” Pepper asked, looking at him with concern from beside the car. He forced himself to nod, easily slipping into a more relaxed posture. He walked to the vehicle, he had things to do.

Harry stared at him as they left, calculating emerald eyes watching the car disappear from his line of sight. The absence of the necklace felt...weird. He was so used to the small weight settled on his chest that he felt like he was missing a little part of himself. He sighed and resolved to hide in the nearby hangar, intent on using his shadows once more.

Riding on a car with so many people was a risk because something could get caught on the cloak, revealing him abruptly and that would be quite startling...That’s what he told himself, but truthfully, the reason he hadn’t wanted to go along with them was because the idea of being in such an enclosed space unnerved him a little -No, it did not scare him, that would be absurd.

He relaxed his posture and called upon the energy that swirled inside him…but it wasn’t Death’s blessing that answered.

Instead of cold, his body felt as of it had been light aflame, burning with alien intensity. He felt as if he was being compressed into a small pebble. Distantly, he heard the roaring force of his magic engulf him, drowning him in its oppressing power. He was weightless, floating in a non-existent plane that felt familiar in spite of the flaring pain.

And then he like he was being pulled from his navel and the sensation of roughly hitting the floor, knocking the air out of him. He curled up, his body shivering from the new shift in temperatures as he took many deep breaths, feeling as if the air wasn’t enough to fill his lungs. As he started to regain awareness, he noticed a hand awkwardly rubbing his arm as it muttered to itself at a fast pace. Drowsily, he blinked at whoever was touching him, violet orbs looking at him with concern.

“He...Hecate?” He groaned with confusion and sat up, trying to hold back the urge to vomit. He shuddered at the empty sensation that assaulted him. “What did you do?”  
“What did I-what did you do?” The goddess of magic said defensively, pulling her hand away. “I was just supervising one of my american settlements when I felt an absurdly powerful apparition. It’s not my fault that you were trying to go to the other side of the world!”  
“Apparition?” He asked, puzzled. “But I don’t...no, I was trying to use Death’s shadows.”  
“Right. I know an apparition when I see one, there’s no need to lie. Still, you should’ve been more careful, didn’t your teachers at Hogwarts lecture you about how easily one can be splinched when doing something so reckless? What would we do if you had killed yourself?”

He scowled as Hecate continued to berate him because the name Hogwarts was difficult for him to recognize. The vague sense of deja vu confirmed that, yes, he knew that place, but picturing it only worsened his tiredness, his body actively fighting against him remembering. Harry resolved to simply shrug, letting her burn herself out.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized, but it was more out of habit. He wasn’t even sure if Hecate knew that he had next to no memories at all, but he felt it was more of a chore to explain that.  
“...well, at least I found you, so no harm done...” She breathed out with exasperation, running a hand through her charcoal colored hair. “I needed to speak to you anyways.”  
“...Is it urgent?” He asked warily, he kind of had to catch up with Stark...  
“Absolutely.” He nodded slowly and stood up, taking the hand that she offered him.  
“About?”  
“It’s Lachesis.” She muttered as she conjured up a satchel, reaching her whole arm into it. “She made a prophecy a couple of days ago, but we had no way to contact you.” That caught his attention completely. Lachesis, as a dying goddess, rarely used her own powers unless it was absolutely necessary. To hear that she had made a prophecy...  
“What blessed soul should I keep an eye out for?” He hoped it was Stark, he wanted a bit of a break before he went out to search for another one…  
“No, not a blessed soul.” She finally took out a small black cube. “It’s about you.”

Again, he felt like he had gone through something like this before. This time, however, the whispered words of ‘neither can live while the other survives’ floated into his mind. They made him feel a fiery thing in his chest, burning a lot harsher than his own magic, suffocating even. Something snapped inside him as he glowered at the goddess, who winced lightly at his heated, emerald gaze.

“No.” He said with finality. “I won’t have anything to do with another prophecy.”  
“I-Harry-you can’t just-” The violet-eyed goddess spluttered, clearly shocked by his response. “Look, if this is about Death’s feud with Skuld, you don’t need to worry. Not all goddesses of fate are like her.”  
“I.don’t.care.” He didn’t know what had taken over him so suddenly, pushing him to speak against a simple prophecy. “I’m sick of everyone choosing my destiny. First was Dumbledore” _Who is Dumbledore?_ “Then it was Trelawney-” What? No, _what_ was he talking about? _Justforgetjustforgetjustforget_. “I have the choice to defy whatever stupid fate they decide to get me into.”

_**...But I don’t want to forget.** _

Hecate pierced through him with a look that he couldn’t comprehend, probably looking into his soul like he knew she could. She stared at him in the eye, confusion flashing in her expression before it settled into an ugly frown.

“...You don’t need to listen to it if you don’t want to, just...take the damn thing.” She muttered, thrusting the cube into his hands. Her voice was weird, cold. “But if you do listen, remember to keep it away from prying eyes, she was insistent that only you were to know of it.” She swiftly turned on her heel, disappearing with a loud snapping noise. Still feeling angry, he shoved the black object into his pocket.  
“Of course, who do they think they are? Thinking they can control us just because they say so.” He whispered to himself, gritting his teeth. He took ahold of Death’s blessing, forcefully pushing down the feeling of his magic and letting it prickle him from underneath his skin. “We have destroyed their lines before, we can do it again.” The shadows aggressively lunged at him, hugging his figure far more than they usually did and dragging him down into the ground. “But they are lucky; right now, we have things to tend to.”

His eyes were no longer emerald nor golden, but the color of red garnets, deep, bright and ever-changing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here I am, once again, bringing you guys another chapter of my story. I decided to stop the drawings because they're taking me forever XD might upload one or two if I ever have time :P 
> 
> Btw, it is now my headcanon that this Harry is a traffic light, thank you for coming to my TED talk.


	7. Not an update, sorry!

Hey everyone! As the title says, no, this isn't a chapter update, but rather some important information. I forgot to tell you guys that I was going on an indefinite hiatus that, I hope, should be finished by November/December. I barely have any time to focus on new chapters and I'd rather change a few things about the ones that are already up. No, I'm not giving up on this story, but this semester is one of the heaviest in my school and I'd like to focus on it as much as possible. If I finish sooner, however, I might pop up with new chapters, but I can't really promise anything since I don't have a consistent schedule.

If you wish to contact me for some strange reason, here is my discord: https://discord.gg/3EcQNHT 

Until then, thanks for your patience!


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